


The Birds

by HealerDPS



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, a boy walked into a bar and the rest is history, everyone is running, everyone needs a hunk hug, he came to a lot of realizations actually, keith came to some realizations, lance runs a bar bc why not?, there are going to be dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-11 09:23:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11145552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HealerDPS/pseuds/HealerDPS
Summary: He was a seasoned track runner back in his varsity years. Despite having to quit due to harassment from his peers he had kept running. It was the only constant in his life.Keith would always have a starting line and a finish line, wherever it may be. For a while, he believed his finish line to be here, in this city. But no longer.





	1. And so Keith is introduced

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I have a lot of ideas brewing for this particular fic, and I know that I already have an unfinished one that I haven't touched in AGES, but I'm planning on being able to write a lot in the next month since i have a surgery scheduled in a few days... soooooo, lots of writing for all y'all!
> 
> Enjoy!

He teetered on his heeled ankle boots in the dank air of the dark city. His eyes appeared like lazy cats, lined enough to aid in the sultry look he had been going for that night. His hair messily framing his face, _the more volume the better_. His outfit was _his_ favorite color and showed more than he was comfortable with. It was all to get his attention.

It had failed miserably.

His chin wobbled as he laughed to himself, “Cruel man he is, he had eyes on every ass there except mine.”

Keith was still young—he was still too naive and innocent in the ways of “love”. He hadn’t fully comprehended the true meaning of an ‘open relationship’, but at that point his mind finally sobered up to the truth.

Keith looked at his reflection in a store window and shook his head, he was everything but himself. The shoes cost over half of his last paycheck and had an impractical heel that he would have never chosen to wear, his black shorts left nothing to the imagination, and his crop top could hardly be considered an article of clothing with how little it covered.

His eyes then flit through the empty street wondering if any stores would be open at this hour. As Keith walked he gave up on the boots and removed them, the bottom of his thigh-high stockings bruising on the pavement.

“I can’t keep walking around like this.” He muttered as he found himself passing alleyways that reminded him of worse times.

Keith knew all too well the sorts of people who prowled the city at this hour.

He finally found a thrift store open on a corner. He was greeted by an older gentleman upon walking inside.

Keith took a brief moment to admire the man’s impressive ginger handlebar moustache before shifting his gaze over to the luggage bags.

“I should just leave” he muttered breathlessly. It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but it was the first time he had said it out loud. Now that he did it wouldn’t leave and seemed to echo in his ears. Keith smiled to himself.

Most of Keith’s things were at still at _his_ place. But that was okay, he had everything he cared about on his person in a small bag on his back. He never left the apartment without his notebook and small laptop, seeing as _he_ never approved of Keith’s hobbies. All the belongings left at _his_ place were unnecessary, all of them were to gain approval from _him_. He didn’t need _his_ approval anymore. In fact, Keith didn’t need anyone’s approval, only his own.

“When did I start caring about what others thought.” Keith wondered to himself. He shook his head and smiled; he was taking the reins of his life back. Relationships be damned, he was going to leave this place.

Keith picked up a moderate suitcase, neither too big nor too small, and something that was easy to travel with. He fished his phone out of his small bag to check the time, if he could get to the bus station in the next hour he could get out of town that night.

He quickly got to work, rattling through the hangers. “I need pants” he said looking down distastefully.

Keith gave himself then minutes to select some clothing, a sufficient amount to get him by for a week or so. He also selected an outfit that would be comfortable to travel in and could be worn at that moment. He found a pair of lightly scuffed boots (the practical kind) half a size too big in the back and paired it with a pair of dark-washed jeans, a gray shirt, and a dark red leather jacket. Keith thanked his lucky stars that there were some unopened packages of briefs that he could grab. He quickly made his way to the gentleman to pay for the purchases.

“Can I trade in any of my clothes I wore to purchase some of these?” Keith asked cautiously as he counted the remaining bills in his wallet—there was enough there for a bus ticket with a little left over, he wanted to avoid having to run to the bank and losing more time.

The gentleman eyed him kindly, “Your shoes themselves will be enough to cover the cost of all of these. If you throw in that hair piece I can give you some extra cash. Besides, I wouldn’t travel with that in your hair, especially in this town.” He shrugged a bit, “I’d really be doing you a favor.”

Keith’s lip twitched up, “Thank you.” He quickly removed the piece out of his hair, honestly he had forgotten it was there. It was an antique gold pin embezzled with his birth stone in the center. A gift from _him_ , or more of less a stamp of _his_ claim. Keith supposed it could have been worse, could have been a collar.

The ginger man licked the bills as he counted through them, “There you are, thank you for your business!”

Keith nodded and made his way out of the store. Feeling all his sense of security diminish after stepping back on to the sidewalk, he glanced at his phone “Thirty minutes left”.

He made sure the luggage bag was secured and folded his bus money in to the front pocket of his jacket and placed the rest in his small bag. Finishing the once-over check he nodded to himself and bolted down the street. The luggage bag slightly weighing him down, but his legs adjusted to the new weight.

He was a seasoned track runner back in his varsity years. Despite having to quit due to harassment from his peers he had kept running. It was the only constant in his life. Running.

Keith would always have a starting line and a finish line, wherever it may be. For a while, he believed his finish line to be here, in this city. But no longer. He quickly turned down a few streets, his legs screaming with joy from the rush of energy.

With five minutes to spare he arrived at the bus station where one bus was waiting. He made his way to the kiosk and pulled out the bills from his pocket, “a four zone ticket please.” He spoke at the lady sitting behind the counter.

She took his money and whistled, “Well aren’t you going far young man.”

Keith ignored her comment and took the ticket before promptly turning towards the bus. Most of the bus was empty, only holding a few businessmen already with eye-masks on and a lady with two children who was trying her hardest to get them to stay seated.

Keith settled in to a lone chair near the back of the bus and allowed himself to fall asleep. 


	2. And so the bar is introduced, kinda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith stared at him through his groggy eyes. Despite being the obvious owner of a bar the man didn’t look much older than he was. His jaw held handsome angles and his dark eyes held something beyond what Keith could grasp. He had soft patches of stubble clinging on to his skin. Something about him just got to Keith, and, well, Keith always was too nosy for his own good.

In a town that was equal to the distance of a four zone bus ticket, a lanky and brown haired man opened up his bar for business.

“Sometimes, Lance, I wonder if you’ll open at all on nights like these.” A man grumbled as he was ushered in.

Lance feigned innocence and scratched the back of his head, “Well at least I opened”.

A few other patrons with familiar faces walked in giving him a smile and rough slap on the back.

Lance walked back into the bar which was dimly lit and smelled like mahogany. The low amber lights gave an allusion to hell. Lance was simply preparing himself.

He walked behind the bar and got to work making the intoxicating drinks that allowed each and every one of these men a moment of relief from their own melancholy. Even so he believed that the alcohol could bring release, Lance himself did not drink. He never let a tinge of alcohol stain his lips—he felt that he didn’t deserve that luxury.

It was the usual crowd, Lance noticed as he slid a gin and tonic to one of his oldest customers. Each patron had a story of their own.

There were those three graduate students nearing the end of their education; Hunk, Shay, and Pidge. They always seemed to appear after their finals or on Thursdays…or everyday of the week. At one point in time Lance was at that table with them, crying their way through studies and terrible professors. But he had decided to change his path on life and slowly drifted away. Hunk, bless his soul, still dragged Lance out with them every few weeks or so. He was the best friend that anyone would be lucky to have.

Shay was the girl that Hunk had been pining over for well past five years now, Shay was an angel who would never do anyone wrong, and Pidge… well, Pidge could probably rule the world with a calculator and internet connection.

For their first few visits after Lance opened the bar he only gave them virgin drinks, just for the fun of it, until one night Pidge came up to the counter, “Tonight, if it’s alright, could you spoil us with some good liquor—no water.”

Lance gave them a sloppy smile, “Took you long enough to notice.”

Oh to be with them again.

Then there was Coran, one of his regular visitors at the bar. He’d usually saunter in after a long day at the college. Lance isn’t really sure what it is he does there, but if you ever wanted to get a monologue on history Coran was your man. He was a loud and relatively rowdy drunk, especially when he would meet up with his niece, Allura, who was a writer and owned a bookshop in town. In exchange for a sneak peek at her newest works Lance would give her free drinks.

Then there were his friends from the local police department; Shiro, Rolo, and Nyma. The days he would sit with them for a drink after work were long gone.

The days he was an officer were just as long gone.

Whenever the crowd was dwindling Lance would find himself sitting with them and reminiscing about the good times they had. Everyone carefully dodged the instance that caused Lance to leave the forces.

Sometimes he’d help them with an investigation or rescue.

Sometimes he’d just stare at the old dusty piano in the center of the bar.

And he would just remember.

No one bothered to tell him to get rid of the old thing; it was a sensitive topic for Lance. Even so he never let anyone play it, well, maybe he would if someone would approach it, but it seemed to be an unspoken rule in the bar not to touch it. The piano was the elephant in the room, a room whose door was too small for it to leave. It was stuck.

It needed someone to make a bigger door for it.

* * *

 

A little later into the night the bell rang above the entrance to the bar. Everyone peered from the corner of their eyes to see who the person was. They were new.

Lance put down a tumbler he was drying and peered at the visitor. He was a young man, probably around the same age as himself and the students. Lance smiled gently at him as he shyly peered around the bar. He carried a luggage bag, Lance noticed. As he approached the bar and sat on a stool Lance was able to have a closer look at his features.

The stranger had striking eyes that were lined with black, which made his eyes allude to a lazy cat. His face was flushed, whether from the chill outside or from shyness, Lance wasn’t sure. His hair was like a whirlwind, long waves framing his face. It was a wild mess, Lance could only suspect how far he had traveled. But what caught him by surprise were the color of the strangers eyes. A deep purple in the muted lights of the bar.

He looked haggard and jittery. His pupils were dilated to a point where the violet in his iris was only as thick as a thread.

“What would you like to drink” Lance spoke gently as not to startle the man.

At that moment their eyes met and his tired face softened into a smile, “I’m not much of a drinker, but I’ll have whatever is your special tonight.”

Lance nodded and busied himself with the concoction.

“Do you have a pen?” Keith asked him.

“Ah, that I do.” Lance chuckled and pulled out a pen from his back pocket.

“Thank you.”

Keith pulled on a napkin and began writing a short letter but was stopped, “I, ah, have paper too if you want.”

Keith blushed with embarrassment, “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Lance walked towards the till and pulled out two sheets of paper and an envelope. Keith accepted them sheepishly.

He began to write the letter, but then scribbled out the words and sighed repeating the process.

When Lance finished the drink he slid the tumbler to him, “Having a little trouble there?” remarking at his evident distress.

Keith didn’t know what he saw in the man, but something in his gaze was comforting.

“I made a decision yesterday. I think it was the right decision, but I guess I’m second guessing myself now. I’m just trying to create a sense of closure with this letter.”

“If you can’t write it, you can just call the person. We have a phone over there.” Lance jutted his chin towards the phone that sat behind where Coran was drinking.

“I don’t want the person to know where I am, they could trace the call here.” Keith blurted out suddenly.

Lance only quirked his eyebrow for a moment but then immediately had a stoic face, “Ah, that is true. Anyway, take your time, we’re open all night.”

Keith nodded and then went back to writing the letter. Lance kept his eye on the boy who looked flustered beyond his years.

“The drink should help some” Lance spoke offhandedly.

Keith eyed the drink cautiously, “Will I do anything I’ll regret if I drink this?”

Lance snorted, “Isn’t that the point?”

Keith huffed, a smile on his lips, “You got me there.”

He began to drink the concoction; it burned his throat but eased the tension. He slugged his head back and finished it in one chug.

Lance whistled, “Easy on the liquor young man. You’ll drink my store dry if you keep drinking like that.”

Keith raised his index finger, “I’ll only drink one.”

“Whatever you say” Lance said quietly as he began wiping down the bar.

He was getting jittery at that moment, which could only mean one thing. He needed a smoke. He didn’t see a ‘no smoking’ sign in the bar, “Is it alright if I smoke here?” Keith asked.

“You sure do ask a lot of questions.” Lance smirked.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Keith quirked his eyebrow as he pulled out a lighter and his pack of _Sevens_.

Lance pulled out a crystal ashtray, “Don’t burn my counter.”

“Noted’ Keith mumbled through the cigarette in his mouth and he let out a long drag.

“If you need anything just give me a holler.” Lance spoke as he turned to exit the bar and sit with his ex-partners.

Keith lazily closed his eyes and let his head lull as he smoked the hours away. His mind calculating what he was going to do next. Where would he stay? It wouldn’t be the first time he was on the streets, but he really didn’t want to go back to that situation.

One thing he knew for sure was if he wanted to leave town it wouldn’t be soon. The bus only seemed to pass through here once a week, every few days if they were lucky. He needed to find a job and a place to stay for the time being and then he’d see where the wind would take him.

As he smoked through what was left of his _Sevens_ the bar started to empty out, and Keith’s mind was doing somersaults around his sanity.

It wasn’t until the last cigarette was smoked and dropped out of Keith's lips that Lance stood up and ushered the last customer out.

He walked up and sat on the stool next to Keith.

He just looked at him.

Keith stared at him through his groggy eyes. Despite being the obvious owner of a bar the man didn’t look much older than he was. His jaw held handsome angles and his dark eyes held something beyond what Keith could grasp. He had soft patches of stubble clinging on to his skin. Something about him just got to Keith, and, well, Keith always was too nosy for his own good.

Keith shouldn’t get involved, he knew all too well what happened the last time he let his feelings get in the way.

He let his mind clear of any said profanities.

Lance then peered at him, “So I presume you don’t have a place to stay.”

“You caught me.” Keith said sarcastically.

Lance smiled, “So what’s your story. A young man like you strolling into a town like this—this late into the night. Hmm, care to explain that?”

“I’m not really up for a bout of story telling tonight. How about you tell me yours.” Keith countered.

“I’ve got nothing to tell you, I’m just a humble bar owner.” Lance feigned innocence.

“Yeah, but you eyes say something else. They’ve seen a lot—nothing a ‘humble bartender’ could afford.” Keith didn’t mention the fact that he could tell the foundation on his face was wearing thin, and that it was covering more than a small blemish.

Lance was taken aback slightly, “This isn’t about me. It’s about you now.”

Keith smirked, “So I hit the nail on the head.”

He moved to collect his things and stood up and counted some bills to cover his tab and tip, “thanks for everything.”

Lance stood up, “Where are you going to stay?”

Keith glanced sideways, “I can handle myself.”

“If you think I’m just going to let you go wandering around town looking for a place to stay I assure you the next place you’ll be sleeping is six feet underground. Whether you can help yourself or not, you need sleep. So I suggest if you plan on not being a walking zombie that you accept my offer.”

Keith fully turned to look at him, “I don’t like being taken advantage of.”

“I’m sorry if I came off that way, but I assure you I’m doing anything but that.” Lance coaxed.

Keith sighed with resignation.

“Follow me” stated Lance.

“I shouldn’t trust you.” Keith mumbled as they walked towards the door.

“Do you have a choice?” Lance piped up. Keith just knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face.

“If you kill me could you make sure they don’t find my body in the dumpster.”

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” Lance chuckled.

Keith’s eyes narrowed at him as he followed him out of the bar. As lance locked the door he spoke again, “By the way, what’s your name anyway?”

“Lance. Lance McClain.” Lance then looked at Keith.

“Keith.”

Lance quirked his eyebrow, “No last name?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you not to give your full name to strangers?” Keith quipped.

“Well apparently not giving your last name could get yourself shot” he countered.

Keith almost chuckled but held back at the far-away look Lance had gotten in his eyes. Best to not push his luck.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, here's the second chapter! More to come soon. I finally feel well enough after surgery to type for a longer period of time. =^.^=


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